For I Am Tuxedo Mask
by cobra-2k
Summary: An alternate take on how Tuxedo Mask got started. Why alternate? Because I haven't seen or read Sailor Moon in almost a decade, and wasn't up to date even then. Rating may change due to minor violence and language later on.
1. Chapter 1

Notes: This story uses the dub names. I apologize. It's what I grew up with, and while I could accept Makoto and Minako, I could never get used to calling Darien "Mamoru" and the idea of naming your main character "Bunny" just appalled me as a kid when I first learned the meaning. This story is also set in America. I realize this is not a good way to win your affection. But since I doubt the likelihood of meeting guys named Darien and Andrew in Japan, this all takes place in an urban, east coast American setting. Set in the modern day. Except that arcades are still popular. Hey, at least I'm being straight with you instead of having the setting be Japameritain, like in Yu-Gi-Oh or Siren.

**For I Am Tuxedo Mask**

Bullseye.

"You ever have that feeling-"

Bullseye.

"-of impending doom?"

Andrew's left brow raised in incredulity as I walked over to the board and pulled out the long blue darts. He remained silent as I walked back and took my place half a foot behind where I had been before. The standard for the game was nine feet. I was at ten now. I generally tried not to distract Andrew while he was working on his essays, but on this occasion my generally poor mood had gotten the better of me.

"Can't say that I have," he replied, his mind now off his work completely and his face showing his concern in every line. Not a selfish bone in his body. "What's wrong?"

I took aim and threw. Bullseye. "Remember when you were a little kid and you'd just failed a test? One your parents knew about? And you spent every second from the instant you saw your grade dreading what they were going to say?"

"Uh…you failed a test?" he asked.

"Metaphor, man," I corrected. I knew he was smart, really, but for a literature major, he sure was dense about some things. "D'you know the kind of thing I mean?"

He thought for a second or so, his eyes traveling to the ceiling before coming back to me. "I guess I do. But what's that got to do with you? You said everything's okay, right?"

"That's just it," I said as I threw another dart, this one a bit slower than the others, at the edge of the board. "Nothing's wrong. Nothing bad's happened at all, but I still have this feeling like something terrible's just around the corner."

Andrew sighed and closed his laptop. I kind of regretted saying anything when he did that, the guy was overworked as it was. He didn't need to be counseling me when he ought to be working. "Darien, if you're feeling anxious, why don't you tell someone? Besides me, I mean. There are counselors, y'know. This is what they're around for."

On a whim, I took a step backwards and threw my last dart, harder than the others had been. A fraction of an inch above the center. Better than good, but not great. I sighed and sat down with my friend. "I don't know, I don't think they could help me." I paused for a second, debating whether or not I should tell him, before realizing that he probably knew already. This wasn't anything new. "It's the dreams again."

"Right," he said as he rolled his eyes. "Why talk to a psychologist about your dreams?"

I had to laugh at that. He was right, I knew. But it wasn't like I'd done it before. Back in the orphanage, when people had asked me what I dreamed about, I'd told them. They gave me advice, tried to get me to admit to having problems I thought I didn't have, and eventually I said the dreams were gone just so they'd stop looking at me. At first they were concerned and kind, but soon they got impatient. After that, they just seemed scared. After I told them the dreams had stopped they were happy again. Part of me knows that there must be something wrong with me, and that a doctor could help, but at the time I didn't want to admit it. _They_ were wrong to think I was crazy. I was perfectly fine.

"I know, I know, but…I just have this feeling that I'm missing something." It was vague enough so that it wasn't exactly a lie, but it was nothing like what I really thought. I stood up again and walked over to the dartboard. "Maybe I'm working too hard."

Andrew scoffed at that. He was partway right: I was only taking it easy because I'd already finished my own work, otherwise I'd be at my apartment chugging coffee instead of sitting in the back room of a closed arcade bothering its owner. Sure I _could've_ been doing something more productive, but, dammit, I was feeling lonely.

"It's just something in the air," I continued as I took my place, now at ten and a half feet. "Like something you see out of the corner of your eye."

This wasn't entirely my own observation. Everyone had noticed one rather significant change recently: crime was going up. No one had quite figured out the reason yet (and even I, a premed student, knew that while crime rates were complex things, there was never any lack of people attempting to analyze them), but it was easy to see. Apparently the problem was worldwide. I sighed in defeat and tossed my darts haphazardly at the board, just wanting to get them in and let me leave.

"I think I've bugged you enough for one day."

"Hey, Darien," Andrew said as I made for the door, rising from his seat as he did. "If there's really something wrong, then just talk to me."

I flashed him a grin as I left. "I'll be fine. You get back to writing."

I wasn't really sure how reassuring my smile could really look at that time. Judging from the sorrowful look of Andrew's face as he sat back down and waved, probably not very reassuring at all.

I'd always had the dreams. For as long as I can remember, I'd dreamed of…whatever the hell it was. It changed each time, and sometimes I could remember them more easily, but I just had some feeling that they were all connected.

I think the first one I had (or at least the first one I can remember), I was a prince. Yeah, it sounds stupid, and I have no idea how I knew that. It was just one of those things you know, in dreams. No one called me a prince, but I just knew that I was. I remember walking into a room of incredible beauty, what in the dream I knew to be a throne room, though it wasn't my own. There was a girl at my side, and she would say my name, and I'd turn to look at her, and wake up.

I always assumed that she was a princess. Not that I ever really knew, since I couldn't even see her, but it just seemed obvious that if I was a prince, then this girl was my princess. Explaining _that_ to my doctors brought up a lot of issues. At least, they seemed to think it did.

I used to dream of the princess, or of the beautiful kingdom that she ruled, but only in fragments. The more coherent dreams were of that same kingdom engulfed in war. I could never explain exactly who we were supposed to be at war with.

It would begin when the princess was in my arms. Over her shoulder, I could see the Earth, as though from a great distance. As she pulled back and looked up at me, I thought I would finally be able to see her face.

Each time I have this particular dream, I still think that _this time_, I'll be able to see her face, and that somehow the rest of the dream will be different. Needless to say, it never happens. As she steps back, a burst of fire flows across the sky, and I can hear screaming in the distance. I turn, keeping the princess' hand in mine, and run as fast as I can. I know where to go, though I can't tell why. To either side, the ornate palace is crumbling, and I can see, just briefly, the enemy slaughtering soldier and innocent alike.

"We have to help them!" I can hear her saying. I say something in reply, but I can't tell what it is. My own voice, when I can hear it at all, sounds like I'm talking underwater. As the dream goes on, even the princess' voice is obscured like that, and later all speech is just incoherent gibberish. The only things that get through to me are the screams and the overwhelming, maniacal laughter of our foes.

We run down a corridor, fast as we can go. Occasionally, _something_ gets in my way.

This was always the part the doctors wanted me to describe. What was the thing that I was running from, that wanted to kill me? They didn't take "I don't know" for an answer, but it was the truth. I can recall only a humanoid outline, a menacing sound that might have been a threat, and unspeakable revulsion. Even in my dream, I knew that this thing was something that shouldn't exist, something that radiated fear and disgust. I did the only thing that seemed reasonable: I unsheathed the sword at my side and cut in front of me.

It's hard to describe exactly what happened, because I'm not sure if I actually wounded the thing. I don't how to use a sword, never even seen one, but the me in my dream clearly did, and brushed the threat aside with one slash. I don't know if it was really harmed, but it was stunned enough to let me and the princess run by. Quickly as we can, we make our way to a secret exit from the palace. The door is already open. We burst through-

And then I wake up. That's usually how it goes.

But recently there's been more. Recently, when we finally get through the door, I see, for a brief instant, the source of the attack.

I don't think there are words for such a thing. I remember reading a story once about a creature so alien that merely looking at it would snap a person's sanity. While what I saw wasn't a single creature, looking at it was like looking at Despair.

Imagine every happy experience you have ever had in your life being stolen from you in a split second. Every joy you have ever known ripped out of you and replaced with a howling, soul-crushing void, leaving you with no happiness, no peace, and absolutely no hope. Only then, when everything you have ever loved about your life, is gone, do you wake up.

And, since this happens about once a week, forgive me if I seem despondent.

When I arrived home, I wanted nothing more than to find an excuse not to sleep. I glanced at the clock. I saw that it was about eleven and smiled a little to myself. I picked up the phone and dialed the number of an old friend.

We'd met last year, during the summer. He was here with his family, taking a trip, and he'd asked me for directions at the museum I was working at (he was taking point for the family because his English was the best). I'd directed his parents and sister towards the exhibit on human evolution, but he stayed behind. When I asked him why, he shrugged. "I already know," he'd said.

We talked all the while his family was looking around. I learned that they were from Japan, and that he was a year younger than me, a junior in high school. I also learned, or rather, inferred, that he was a goddamn genius. I'd offered to show him around the city during the week he was there, and he'd accepted readily. Since then, we'd been good friends, usually calling each other up every week or so to chat. Since it was nearly noon in Japan, I decided to give him a ring. Generally, he called me, since placing a call to Japan wasn't cheap, and he was well-off enough from part-time jobs to pay, but I felt bad making him do it all the time.

The phone rang for what felt like an eternity before he picked up.

"Hey, Darien," said Light Yagami from a half a world away in his impeccable English. "Nice to hear from you."

"Good to hear your voice, Light." Andrew might be my best friend, but he's sometimes a bit too optimistic to be really helpful. Light is much more practical, and that can make him easier to talk to, even though I sometimes feel like he has to talk down to me. Still, I didn't need to beat around the bush with him. "You ever have the feeling that something terrible's going to happen?"

"Nope," he replied. Usually we would make small talk for a bit, but I'd learned that Light didn't really mind getting right to the heart of an issue.

"Not even when you were younger, and failed a test that your parents expected you to do good on?"

"Never failed," he replied. I had to smile at that. I could also tell it was taking a lot of effort on his part not to correct me and say "do _well _on." "What's got you so worked up?"

I've got a sneaking suspicion the world's about to end and I'm supposed to do something about it. "I guess the world's just got me on edge."

"Well, if it's about your schoolwork, you know how to keep on top of that," he started. Of course, keeping on top of work was quite a bit easier for him than for most people. "What else is stressing you out? Maybe you need a girlfriend?"

"I could say the same about you," I quipped.

"I'm not the one getting stressed over nothing," he retorted. "In all seriousness, though, maybe you need to take some time to relax. Have you tried just taking a day to go out and enjoy yourself?"

I flopped down on my couch and kicked my shoes off. "These days, going out's about as relaxing as a math final. Constantly keeping one hand on your wallet, you know?"

He sighed sadly. "There too, huh?"

"Yeah."

We were quiet for a second or so. In the silence, I could hear Light typing away diligently. Jotting down notes for some new assignment, no doubt. I have to admit, he might not be the best person to talk to about relieving stress. "Sometimes," I continued, "sometimes I feel like I'm supposed to be doing something."

He paused before replying. "About…crime?"

"What?! No! I mean…in general. I feel like there's something in my life that's missing."

"Sounds like a classic mid-life crisis to me."

"Do they even have those in Japan?" I joked.

"Are you kidding? Most salarymen have at least three. Look, just because you're confused doesn't mean you're wrong, maybe there is something you'd rather be doing. You just started college, maybe this is a sign that you're in the wrong field of study?"

"Maybe."

"For starters, med school's an intimidating prospect for the future. Even I'd be nervous about it if I had to go through it." I doubted this, but kept quiet. "Sure, you won't be going for years, but that kind of knowledge can mess a person up. Are you sure you want to go through your college years with that cloud hanging over you?"

To be fair, he had a good point. Technically, you didn't have to be a premed student to get into med school, you just needed a few required biology and physiology courses. You could be an agriculture major and as long as you took those few courses you could get into a decent medical school. The problem was that I wasn't really all that concerned about it. "I don't think that's it."

"Well, what do you think it is?"

I sighed and decided to bite the bullet. Light wouldn't like it, he was too logical, but it had to be said. "It's the dreams. They're getting worse."

I could sense the exasperated look on his face as he sighed. During the time we'd spent together, I'd noticed how expressive Light was. To this day, I can almost see his reactions to even the smallest of things, particularly annoyances. "I know some of the great Western psychologists put a lot of stock in dreams, but, Darien, yours are just fantasy."

I'd had the thought before, but I hadn't given it voice up until this point. "Light, they changed recently. They're more…I don't know, _visceral_ than before. I think-" and here was the moment of truth, "-there's a connection with the crime rates."

I honestly expected him to burst out laughing. I expected maybe a sharp reproach and some kind of condescending remark. In fact, I think I would have preferred that to his eventual response. "Go on," he said.

"Like…maybe my dreams are getting darker because the world is getting darker."

He was quiet for a while before replying. "Maybe you subconsciously think you're supposed to be doing something about it?" A light chuckle. "Maybe your mind's telling you to go into law enforcement like me."

I laughed. Light and I had a long-standing debate about which line of work did the most good for the world. I stood by medicine, but I wasn't about to disagree that he had a point. "I really don't think I'm cut out for police work."

"Who said anything about police? Hey, maybe you could be a…what do you Americans call them? 'Superheroes?'"

We both had a good laugh about that. "If I _were_ a superhero, what would my powers be?"

"Well, you've got great aim, you could defeat villains by throwing stuff at them!" He chuckled at that. "You'd need some kind of name, too, like…'The Black Bullseye!'"

I talked with Light for a bit longer before he said he had to go. He'd managed to take my mind off my worries for the moment, and for that I was grateful. But what he might have thought was just distracting comedy had got me thinking. The dreams_ had _worsened in sync with the recent crime surge…could there really be a connection?

I fell asleep on the couch.

This was no dream.

No, that's not quite right.

I could tell that I wasn't awake. That much was obvious. But it was nothing like a dream.

It looked like I was in a foyer of some kind. There were a lot of people standing in a few lines. My vision was hazy and I couldn't really make out most of my surroundings. The building was made of white stone, but it was nothing like the marble and crystal palace from most of dreams. What's more, I could tell that even though I was there, I didn't have a physical presence. It was like being a camera. I could move around and look where I wanted (not that it mattered much, since there was this bizarre fog hanging in the air), but I could tell there was no way for me to interact with anything.

I looked around for a few minutes, just trying to get my bearings. I saw a clock on the wall that told me it was ten, but the fog prevented me from looking out the windows to tell me what time of day it was. The light inside the building was a strange kind of blue, but no one else seemed to think anything of it. Suddenly I heard a sharp crack from behind me. Everyone turned to look at it, and it was then that I realized everyone moved with some kind of blurry effect. Even the sound was obfuscated, as though I was hearing it from underwater. I wasn't sure if this was because of the fog or just another feature of this dream.

I turned to the doors and saw a group of people with masks rush in with guns. Describing them would be difficult, due to the obfuscating atmosphere, and as they approached me, they continued to get blurrier and more difficult to discern from anything else that my head started to hurt.

I woke up then, none the wiser. It was better than my recurring dreams, but confusing in its normalcy. To be honest, it was pretty boring. It was pointless and weird and ultimately forgettable, and as a matter of face, I did forget it before I was even out of the shower. Of course, now I can recall it with more clarity, as after that day I began to pay more attention to my dreams than ever before.


	2. Chapter 2

Notes: It's been a long time coming, but here's the second chapter. You know, the hardest part about writing this story is writing Darien. Looking back on the original series, he doesn't really get a whole lot of development, and his background is rarely brought up. I think I remember reading somewhere that he was originally a thief. I have conveniently forgotten about that.

* * *

I guess if you've ever been to college, you know what my average day is like. Have class? Yes/No? If yes, go to class. If no, prepare for class. And by "prepare for class," I of course mean study with a schedule.

What's my schedule? Study or work for a half-hour, screw around for a half-hour. Repeat _ad nauseum_. Sometimes literally. All my study material is so dry that I need time to let it sit in my brain before it actually sticks there. As it happened, that day I had class, so I prepared for my day, grabbed books, and it was off to Anatomy. Oh, frabjous day.

It was a good twenty minute walk from my apartment to the classroom. It was about five minutes into that walk that I remembered that I had a test to take in Anatomy. Callooh, ca-goddamn-llay. It wasn't that I hadn't studied, I had, and knew the material pretty well. But I'll admit that I'm not a very good test-taker. My attention just isn't held by a sheet of paper. If the tests were given orally, I know I'd do very well, but what can you do?

So I walk into Anatomy and get out my test-taking stuff. Twenty minutes later I'm trying to remember what the functions of the medula oblongata are besides the cardiac and respiratory ones. Looking around the room in the vain hope that the answer will be, I don't know, written on the wall or something, I'm struck by how few people I really recognize. As a matter of fact, the only person I'd call a friend was Rita, Andrew's girlfriend. Apart from the fact that I generally keep to myself, I try to sit near the front of the classroom so my attention doesn't wander. Which means that the rest of the class is behind me, so I rarely recognize their faces. I finished up with the test as quickly as I could and brought it to the professor's desk. I waved a little at Rita as I walked out, but I wasn't sure if she'd seen me.

Which left me with most of a day and nothing to do. Meaning that clearly the best course of action was to waste some time at the arcade.

"Andr-" was as far as I could get before somebody bowled into me. I managed to keep my balance, but the other, smaller person lost hers and was knocked to the ground. Now where the heck had she come from? The automatic doors were glass, avoiding people on your way out should be pretty easy. A brunette came to help the blonde girl up off the floor.

"You oughta watch where you're going!" she said.

"You oughta watch a fashion show, it might help that stupid hairstyle."

Yeah, that would have been a clever comeback. But she and her friend were out the door before I could get it out of my mouth. Hate it when that happens.

"Aw, new girlfriend, Darien?" Andrew taunted me from one of the light gun games. He grinned and stood to stretch. "Might be a bit too young for you."

"Ah, bite me," I said as I dusted myself off. Not that I was in any way disheveled, just that I might have been blushing a bit from his remark, and no way was I letting him have that satisfaction. "Regular?"

"Yeah, been coming in here for ages. Shouldn't you be in class?"

"Finished the test early. Rita'll probably be done soon, too."

"Good to hear. You sleep well?"

Damn. Should I tell him? I don't want to worry him. That's the problem with Andrew: if I tell him something's bothering me, he'll be concerned. I don't want him to be concerned, because then I feel like I should be concerned too. I don't want to be worried, I just want to ignore it. "Okay. Weird dream, though. Not like the usual ones."

"Well, we all have 'weird dreams,' sometimes, Darien," he said slyly. "My personal favorite involves Rita, a forest, a book of poetry, and a spotted owl."

...Was that meant to be funny? Maybe it was a literature kind of of joke. I gave him a pity-chuckle. "No, not like that. I can't even remember what it was exactly, just a lot of blurry pictures."

"Well, if you want blurry, look no further," Andrew said as he gestured over to the dart board. Some people were already playing, though not very well. "Maybe it's just because I see you play so much, but I think those guys might need glasses."

I'm not saying the three guys were awful, they clearly knew what they were doing. But playing to impress a handful of nearby girls (classmates, judging by the uniforms) obviously wasn't helping their concentration much.

"You want to go over and show them what for?"

"Now why would I want to do that? Let 'em have their fun, I'll play after they leave."

At that moment, Rita walked in, and Andrew immediately stood and went to talk to her, leaving me temporarily alone. I sat down in Andrew's seat and took a look around.

Almost all of the patrons were playing games, of course, but it was always interesting to see who played what. You might think that the girls generally go for the crane games and skee-ball, but a decent amount of them were blasting zombies and other assorted bad guys alongside their male friends. Probably the biggest gathering of people was the one clustered around the newest machine, the Sailor V game.

"Darien!" I turned my head to greet Rita. "How do you think you did?"

I shrugged. "Really not sure. I think I did okay, but you know how that tends to work. How about you?"

Rita beamed. "Oh, I know I aced this one! All that studying was worth it!"

Behind her, I could see Andrew look a little downcast. She'd probably put off going out with him to study. Well, he's good enough to understand, and he doesn't complain, but I know he still gets a little jealous for her attention. "And to celebrate..." she continued before giving Andrew a sly smile. "Well, to start, why don't you show me how to play that new Sailor V game?"

Ah, Sailor V. You'd think that a vigilante dressed like a schoolgirl would attract a lot of attention. You'd be right. Sailor V had first appeared a few months ago to foil a robbery, and despite the fact that she was technically a criminal (vigilantism is bad, kids), the police had decided to cooperate with her, and now there are action figures and arcade games based on her. Have you seen _Watchmen_? Well, never mind.

Andrew had been pushing the Sailor V game on his regulars, and they all seemed to like it. I was keeping my distance, though, I'm better off with the classic racers.

"C'mon, I bet with Andrew coaching me, I could beat you, Darien," Rita crowed. "How about a bet? If I can beat your high score, you treat us to dinner."

Andrew could probably see the sad look in my eye, since he tried to interject for me. "Hey, Rita, there's such a long line to play..."

Honestly, I appreciated the effort. But there was no need to hide it. "I haven't played it," I interrupted. "I don't like guns."

It's silly, I know. But in the game, Sailor V is blowing away bad guys and monsters with a gun. I don't have a problem with violence in games, really, but I just bring myself to see someone with a gun as a hero. Hence why I stick to racers: the arcade's full of gun games. Sure, there's nothing bad about them, really, and in most of them you're shooting zombies or dinosaurs or something, it's just...well, I don't know, really.

I spent a while talking with Andrew and Rita before leaving them around sunset. And back to my surprisingly dull apartment. Maybe a plant or two would liven the place up, something colorful and eye-catching. Some flowers, maybe? Whatever.

I flipped through the channels trying to find something interesting. Home shopping, cartoons, old horror movie, bank robbery, something with Jon Carradine...

It took a second after I'd seen it to really process it. I switched back to the news program discussing the robbery of a local bank just earlier today. It shouldn't have mattered to me, but as I watched the report, my dream from the previous night came rushing back to me. It was hazy, of course, but I do remember those masked men...and there they were, captured on the bank's security camera footage. A group of masked robbers with guns.

What would you have done in my situation? If you had just been confronted with the fact that you may have just had a dream that predicted the future?

If you were smart, you'd write it off as a coincidence. With crime on the rise, eventually you're going to dream about a crime, and then one will happen. That's just basic probability, there.

But, for better or worse, I wasn't that smart. I was tired, I was worried about the future, and, frankly, I was bored.

If I had really had a premonition of a crime before it occurred, then there was no reason it couldn't happen again. Maybe if I struggled hard to maintain clarity, I'd be able to tell when and where the crime was going to take place. Maybe I'd be able to prevent it, or at least tip someone off about it.

Sailor V foiled crimes, and she did it without killing anyone, relying on her skill and wits. I thought back on what Light had said the night before, and leaned back on my couch, the television report still going on.

"A superhero, huh?"


End file.
